Softail Curves II Page 2

  “I’ll talk to him tonight,” I said.

  “I don’t know about you, but if that hunk had kissed me like he was kissing you, I’d be begging Locke to take me home and have his way with me,” Sheila said and winked. I guess I felt the same way. Despite the drama, I was still turned on by the way that guy came on to me. Just like when Dutch did it, it made me feel sexy.

  “Yeah, it’s time to go home,” I said. Sheila gathered me up and we went back inside to get the boys.

  >>O<<<br />
  Half an hour later, I had Dutch naked back home on my bed and I was lying between his legs giving him a warm, wet blowjob. I had him all worked up and he was leaking into my mouth, a treat I savored as often as I could. I wanted to play with my pussy, but I knew better. I’d come when Dutch let me come and I was glad to let him take control. He hadn’t disappointed yet, even that first night with him when I didn’t come at all.

  I was going to tell him about the other biker and the kiss after we had sex, but Dutch was way ahead of me. “So, did that other guy get you excited?” he asked suddenly. I lifted my eyes and then my head, letting his cock pop free.

  “You know about him?” I asked worriedly.

  “He was checking you out all night,” Dutch said. I had to come clean now but again, Dutch knew more than I thought. “I bet you’re pussy got all wet when he kissed you,” Dutch added. I was speechless. I wondered if Sheila had told him, but I didn’t know when she could have. We left as soon as we went back into the roadhouse and she never had a chance, not to mention she promised me she wouldn’t.

  Dutch laughed softly, “You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?”

  “Dutch, I...,” was all I managed to get out before he shushed me gently. He went to the edge of the bed and sat. “Come here,” he said and when I’d joined him, he gently pushed me down and over his knees. Was he really going to do this? He answered my silent question a moment later when his hand smacked my bare ass and I cried out. Dutch kneaded my succulent flesh where he had struck me as I looked over my shoulder at him.

  “Did you like it? Don’t lie, I’ll know. Hell, I already know but I want you to say it,” Dutch said and I might have been scared if I wasn’t so fucking excited.

  “Yes, I did,” I said and Dutch spanked me again. I screamed out in pleasure as much as pain as his hand sent ripples through my flesh.

  “I know you did. I can see it. You’re a naughty girl. Too bad you didn’t tell me about it sooner. Maybe we could have brought him home and I could have shared you with him,” Dutch said and my eyes went wide, but clenched shut as his hand found my round ass one more time. I squealed in delight, both at the spanking and the thought of Dutch and the other man ravishing me.

  “Fuck me, daddy. I’m so horny. I need your cock in me,” I begged. I was past caring anymore. I don’t know if Dutch knew the effect this was having on me, I suspect he did, but it took me by complete surprise. His hand met my ass one last time, the hardest spanking yet, and then Dutch picked me up in his strong arms and helped me to straddle him.

  I knew what to do as I sank onto his steel rod until my soft behind rested on his thighs. I pushed Dutch down and rode his cock for everything I was worth. I slid up and down his cock as he grabbed my wide hips and sank his fingers into my lush sides and my breasts bounced wildly. Dutch took in the show, a look of hunger on his face. Soon, I was taken by a rush of intense pleasure and screamed out. I couldn’t remember ever being as wet or excited as I was at that moment.

  “Too bad that other biker isn’t here to stuff his dick up you’re sexy ass,” Dutch said and I looked at him and found a mischievous smile.

  “I’m your bad girl, daddy. Punish me,” I responded playfully and before I realized what was happening, Dutch had me on my back, my legs in the air and his cock deep in my pussy. Dutch stroked my mouth with his index and middle fingers as he pounded me savagely. I eagerly opened my lips and he began to fuck my mouth with the fingers. I felt another amazing climax build.

  “I bet you wish you had his cock in your mouth, don’t you? You’re a fucking slut, Shauna. A big, beautiful slut,” Dutch said and I absolutely lost my mind. I wailed and writhed as the wild shuddering spasms took over. I felt the impact of Dutch’s forceful thrusting send shockwaves through my ample body. My breasts rolled and shook as if they had a life of their own. I couldn’t stop this train even if I wanted to and I didn’t want to.

  Dutch hammered into me driving me crazy as wave after wave of intolerable sensations racked my poor body. I was shaking, sobbing and fighting for breath as the pleasure raged within. Then Dutch took his fingers away and slapped me. It wasn’t hard, playful and exciting really, but it got my attention as the next orgasm hit me and I went rigid. I locked my eyes on his daring him to do it again and he granted my wish, smacking my face and caused me to gasp.

  I realized I was drenched in sweat and my hair was matted to my face and neck. Dutch was covered in perspiration as well, the tips of his shaggy blonde hair wet with it. I held those beautiful blue eyes and began to laugh as I came again. Dutch slapped my breasts and twisted my nipples just as I climaxed and cried out at the top of my lungs as the pain and pleasure conspired to launch me into the stratosphere. For a moment, I could barely comprehend any of it and then Dutch was coming inside of me as I wrapped my legs around him making sure he didn’t try to escape.

  Dutch pumped his load into me and filled me with its warmth. I was overwhelmed with emotion but instead of crying, I just giggled as Dutch grunted and finally screamed like some crazy Viking warrior and then collapsed next to me. I was still laughing as I tried to recover, my body vibrating as if I was hooked up to a live wire. Dutch’s cock stood straight up and more of his orgasm ran down his length.

  “That just happened,” he said and I burst out laughing again. Apparently, Dutch was as surprised by the whole episode as I was. It was intense and wildly thrilling.

  “Maybe I should let strange men kiss me more often, daddy,” I said and Dutch chuckled. He managed to roll over and he was like an oven. His skin was hot, and so was mine I suppose. We kissed and then he lay his head down on my soft breasts and draped an arm over me. Neither of us moved for a while, too tired and spent. However, I had to ask Dutch about what he said.

  “Do you really want that?” I asked. I’m not sure how I’d feel if he did but I had to admit the fantasy was exciting.

  “What? Another guy fucking you?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I thought you’d be mad but Sheila talked me down and said I should tell you about it. She said lying would be worse than being honest about it,” I explained.

  “She’s right. She usually is. I don’t know. It was hot in the moment to say that stuff. Look, I don’t own you. If that guy turns you on and you want to fuck him, you should. If we both thought inviting another guy or girl to join us would be fun, then why not?” Dutch said. That made sense, but it wasn’t very satisfying. As Sheila said, I wanted to know Dutch wanted me. I didn’t want him losing his mind every time a guy looked at me, but I wanted to know he wanted me all to himself.

  “So, you don’t mind if I have sex with other people?” I asked.

  “Well, sure I’d mind,” he said. That was almost the answer I wanted to hear.

  “So why didn’t you kick his ass or something?” I wondered.

  “Sheila had it handled,” he said. I took a deep breath. I was going down a road I shouldn’t. I let it go. I figured Dutch would tell me how he felt when he was ready. Pressing the issue was only going make him shut down and leave me angry. I didn’t want that.

  “Sheila also said that if I wanted to know more about you, I should ask. I’m asking. I’d love to know what makes Dutch tick. By the way, is that your real name?” I asked. We’d been going out for a few weeks and I had no idea.

  “Sheila’s been busy. No, my parents didn’t name me Dutch. My real name is Harold Van Der Burg,” he said. I wiggled from beneath him and sat up. Dutch lay on his back with his hand behind his
head.

  “That’s a Dutch last name, isn’t it?” I asked as much as stated.

  “You’re cute and smart,” he replied. That explained the nickname.

  “I like Dutch better,” I said.

  “Me too. Harry isn’t a good biker’s name, you know,” he said and chuckled.

  “So tell me more. How’d you end up being Dutch?” I asked. Dutch seemed to hesitate for a moment as if he was deciding whether or not to tell me. Finally, he did.

  “I was normal kid. I wanted to go to college and did for a while. I majored in engineering just like my old man. He had a heart attack and died my sophomore year. I remember what my mom said after we buried him. She told me she regretted waiting. She regretted waiting to enjoy life with my dad. She regretted assuming he’d always be there. That hit me hard,” he said. I wanted Dutch to open up but I had no idea.

  “I’m sorry about your dad. You loved him a lot, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Yeah, he was the best. He taught me to be a man and I wanted to be just like him,” Dutch told me and then paused. He fought back tears and I took his hand. “But I couldn’t be. Not after hearing what my mom said. I dropped out of school and never went back. I had to do something, so I joined the service. I did a few tours in Iraq but I left the Corps before my unit went to Afghanistan. I’d had enough and I’d done my duty. I met Locke at a veterans support group and he and Sheila took me under their wings and we’ve been friends ever since,” he finished.

  “Wow! That’s quite a story. I went to college and work at an insurance company,” I said playfully. Dutch laughed as I lay next to him. “Thank you for telling me,” I told him and hugged him close.

  “Thanks for caring enough to ask,” he said in reply. I wondered if I was the first. I decided not to ask. The quiet biker with the sexy blue eyes had opened up to me. I wasn’t going to push my luck. In any case, the way he said it made me feel pretty special.

  >>O<<<br />
  The next morning Dutch and I went out for breakfast. There’s nothing like waffles, eggs and bacon to take the edge off a slight hangover. I think it was as much the drinking as it was the sex. My ass still hurt from where Dutch spanked me but it was a pleasant reminder of the wild and rough sex we had the night before. After we both wolfed down more than our share of cholesterol, Dutch looked at me inquisitively.

  “You’ve never asked me what I do for a living,” he said.

  “I guess I haven’t. Honestly, I didn’t know you did anything but I guess being a sexy biker isn’t a career, is it?” I said playfully.

  “You want to see?” he asked. I did. Dutch opened up to me the night before and I was grateful for it. Up until then, we were just playing around. Hanging out, drinking, having sex. Suddenly, he felt like a boyfriend.

  “Yeah, right now?” I asked.

  “Right now,” he said. I wondered suddenly what a man like Dutch might do to earn a living. I might have guessed he did something with his hands, but that was obvious by the way they looked, rough and calloused. But what, I wondered. We rode into the industrial part of town. The streets were lined with warehouses, garages and small factories. Then we pulled up in front of an old red brick building with a single glass door and a big roll up door next to it. On both doors, the words “Softail Customs” were painted.

  “You work here?” I asked.

  “No, I own it and the only employee,” Dutch told me. It wasn’t pretty, an old industrial building in the middle of other industrial buildings, but it still was kind of cool. Dutch led me inside to a small but clean office area. It had a counter with stools, a leather sofa and motorcycle memorabilia on the walls. It also had its fair share of posters and calendars with half-naked women posing on motorcycles. Every one of them was curvy like me.

  “What do you do here?” I asked. Dutch led me through another door and into the heart of the building. It was a shop, not overly large but filled with tools, machines and motorcycles.

  “You were wrong. Being a sexy biker is a career,” Dutch said and slapped my ass playfully.

  “Do you fix these or what?” I asked.

  “I build custom bikes and restore factory bikes. I built Locke’s bike. I restored mine from barely a frame. It’s one of the first Softail Harleys they made. I found it in some guys garage all torn apart,” Dutch told me. The thought of him building the bike he drove me around on with his bare hands was making me rather horny.

  “So is that why you call the place Softail Customs?” I asked him.

  “Partly,” he said before wrapping his arms around me and squeezing my soft, round ass. “That and I like big, soft tails, especially yours,” he said and then slipped his tongue into my mouth. Oh yeah! I loved it when Dutch told me how much he enjoyed my curvy body, even more so when he touched it. I pushed Dutch away.

  “You ever get a blow job in here?” I asked but didn’t wait for an answer. I dropped to my knees on the concrete floor and began working at Dutch’s jeans. It didn’t take long to get his warm and quickly hardening cock out and wrap my lips around it. I stared up into his eyes as I slowly sucked him. Dutch stared back as he stroked my hair. It didn’t take long for him to become fully erect.

  I started using one hand to stroke his shaft as my lips caressed his crown. God, his cock felt like an iron pipe within a velvet sheath. I placed my other hand on his ass, his hard, muscular ass, and pulled him in deeper. I never took my eyes from of his. My pussy was begging for attention in my jeans but I was going to wait. This was about my daddy and his pleasure. I really did love it when he told me how much he loved my plump body and I wanted to show him how much.

  Alone in his garage on a Sunday morning, I gave Dutch a long, loving blowjob. I took my time, letting his orgasm build slowly and enjoyed how sucking his cock made me feel. Sexy, beautiful and a little submissive. I basked in his gaze and he obviously enjoyed watching his cock disappear over and over between my red lips. His eyes were so sexy. I swear I almost had an orgasm just pleasuring Dutch while I stared into his eyes. However, all good things come to an end and this thing came to warm, wet and tasty end.

  Dutch stiffened, he never said a word the entire time, and suddenly he erupted into my mouth. I could feel his cock surge as his orgasm filled my eager mouth and I dutifully savored every drop. I stroked him, coaxing every last bit from Dutch and then I pulled my mouth free, showed him the treat it held and then swallowed it all. Dutch smiled and I could tell by the look in his eyes that he appreciated that as much as the blowjob that led up to it.

  I stroked his cock and I could feel Dutch’s heart pounding in my hand. I continued to play even when he had gone soft, our eyes never parting. Finally, I stood, helped Dutch put himself away and then let Dutch wrap his arms around me and just hold me. That’s all I really needed. Sex with him was amazing, mind-blowing, life altering, but all I really needed was to be in Dutch’s arms.

  “You’re not the girl I met in that club anymore,” he said after a while. I looked up at him.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “You’ve really embraced all of this. I knew you were different. I told you didn’t I? You didn’t belong there. You belong here, with me,” Dutch told me. He was right. It hadn’t been that long ago that I rolled my eyes as he approached and joked with my friend about the out of place biker. I felt it too. Almost instantly. When Dutch told me I could call him daddy, it the most preposterous thing I’d ever heard but deep inside, I wanted to do as he suggested.

  I did finally call him daddy, just a week later, and I never looked back. I was having the time of my life. I was falling for Dutch, had found new friends in Locke and, especially, Sheila and was living a completely different life. I still slaved away in an office, still lived in the upscale apartments and frequented many of the same places, but I had changed. I discovered I wasn’t happy, that I was living for others instead of myself. Dutch, the biker with the sexy blue eyes, changed all that.

  “I didn’t belong back there, that’s for sure. Here,
with you I feel like I can be me,” I said. I shouldn’t have expected Dutch to go on, but I did. However, true to form he remained quiet. I tried hard just to enjoy the moment but I couldn’t stop my mind from overthinking things. Did Dutch really want me all to himself? He almost said as much...almost. I knew he liked me but I wondered if there might be more and if there were, how long would it take the quiet biker to say so.

  The strange moment I shared with the other biker in the hallway the previous night weighed on my mind too. Dutch seemed to take it in stride and I was glad for that but why did I do it? Why would I let a man kiss me like that? Why would I respond the way I did? I suppose I knew why. I loved the way Dutch looked at me, the way he touched me and the things he said. I’d never felt so wanted or pretty in my life. Then here is this other man looking at me the same way. It felt good. It felt really good.

  Sheila was right. I could look, maybe even flirt. This was all so new to me. The freedom, the way it made me feel, all of it. Maybe I should let myself enjoy it. I mean, I wasn’t married. I’d only known Dutch for a few weeks. I liked him, I liked him a lot, but maybe I was expecting too much from him. He was a free spirit and maybe I should be too. Or maybe I should just stop thinking so much.

  “So where do you live. We always end up at my place,” I asked suddenly trying to shut my brain up.

  “I live here. I’m either riding, hanging out or working. A house would just be an unnecessary expense and hassle. Besides, sometimes I get a burst of energy in the middle of the night and living here, I can just come down and start wrenching,” Dutch told me. So he didn’t even have a place to live? I suppose it made sense but it was so foreign. In the city, amongst my old friends, having the perfect apartment or house was a status symbol. It signified your success. Practicality had little to do with it.

  “Don’t you ever want to just get away?” I asked.

  “From what? I love being here. I love doing this. Why would I want to get away?” he said as if it were painfully obvious.